


a moment.

by theaceupmysleeve



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Canon Compliant, Holy shit dude, M/M, and also . so self indulgent even more so than the other shit ive written, this is probably the gayest thing ive written ever ?, tim and alex are only vaguely in this Unfortunately my apologies, v specifically saying masky yall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 18:46:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9398159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theaceupmysleeve/pseuds/theaceupmysleeve
Summary: this is but a small moment of time. a window of opportunity. it won't last, it never does, it never will. but just for a moment. that is all that is needed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> [corresponds with the events of Entry 67]
> 
> ok sorry if ?? this is hard to read in advance bc i wanted to make it sound like, cluttered and unreal in a sense, and give it this sort of tilting momentum like you might hear in slam poetry would be a good example ??? and its lowkey inspired by jaythewriter's writing style bc god i love how it feels to read that, but hbjhbh idk its like 4 am and this is so self indulgent kill me ??

he is patient. silent.

the camera lies on the resting man, tied tightly to the chair, with zipties and rotting rope.

all is still.

another body lies some feet away from where he sits. Its chest rises and falls but he cannot hear Its breathing, or he does not notice it, he is not sure. he removed the camera from It, used its batteries to power his own.

It did not need to see this place yet.

the energy of the room shifts. he lifts his head, his eyes on the tied man, who still has not stirred. he turns and sees It is beginning to awaken. Its eyes are not open and he silently stands, moving out of sight of It, yet allowing himself to see.

Its eyes open, glossy and fogged. Its expression remains unchanged from sleep, completely blank, completely still. It feels Its face, as if curious to changes made.

It stands, carefully, and taps Its foot, as if It has not seen or stood on this leg for ages.

 

and then he realizes.

_Him._

it is not longer It but Him and he feels a swelling or collapsing or weight in his chest that he has not felt for what feels like an eternity, and he steps out, still silent, still ever patient.

He seems to hear him, given his sudden turn and ducking into a defensive position, prepared to charge. but His stance relaxes and His back straightens and He takes a single step and despite the lack of expression He seems calmed, soothed, contented.

he envelops Him in the tightest embrace he can muster with the sudden weakness in his muscles, and he shoves his masked face into His shoulder and his nose crinkles behind the fabric. the smell of smoke is so strong and thick and it burns his nose and lungs and he hates it with a fiery passion, because that is Its smell and not His and he hates It. but It is gone and He is here again even if only for a short moment, and that is all that he needs, that is all that he has needed for these months that He has been gone.

He is cold. always cold. he has never once felt that He was warm as It was but he detested that warmth.

He was cold like the dark shadows that encompassed him at night and He was chilled like the water that kept him safe in its creeping grasp and he could not have been more grateful to have that back again, he would freeze to death before letting go of this again.

he feels Him gently hug back, hesitant, as if confused yet understanding that this must mean He has been gone far longer than He knows and far longer than he ever wants Him to be again, and he is so grateful for that, he is so grateful for Him--

the rush of thoughts is stopped by a groan from the next room. He tenses, clutching at the fabric of his clothing and he knows that His knuckles are turning white from how He shakes against him. He is scared. he is not. they are both angry for different reasons, filled with an unbridled and white hot rage for the bound man slowly and painfully stirring but he is able to calm himself for a moment. just a moment.

he leads Him aside, keeping Him out of the doorway. safety from the bound one.

he releases Him and allows Him to crumple against the wall, head down, His breathing growing heavier and His body shaking more and more with every passing second until he gently assures him.

but not with words. he silently assures Him that they have this under control and He nods, understanding, always understanding.

 

and then it is a blur. he is standing above the bound man with the pistol in his hands aimed between his eyes and his finger quivers against the trigger, he could end this now, he could stop this madness and save all of them, even Him, but the ringing in his ears grows louder and louder and he only manages a single glimpse of the monstrosity before he has to flee.

 

and then He is there, asleep again, in the grass. he has set His mask just beside Him, hoping and praying and waiting because all he wants is for this moment to go on a while longer. but It has returned, with Its warm skin and clear eyes and he despises It. he wants to end It.

but he knows that the camera man needs It, as much as he needs Him.

and so he simply lets It leave.

he retrieves His mask again. he puts it into his hoodie because he has no where else to keep it and he cannot lose it, it is all that he has of Him until He returns again. a pang clutches at his chest.

 

it is always only a moment.

it has never been more, and never will be.

but a moment is all that is needed.


End file.
